


Different Kind of Brand

by nalathequeen2186



Series: Branded [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cadrin Brosca, Gen, Ostagar, in which cadrin discovers the existence of surfacer slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nalathequeen2186/pseuds/nalathequeen2186
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cadrin encounters the phrase "knife ear" for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Kind of Brand

Ostagar had a sense of grandeur that Cadrin had never seen, not even in the Proving Hall in Orzammar. Compared to this place, her home (though, she thought to herself with a secret spark of joy, it wasn’t her home any longer) seemed dark and oppressively heavy. She could see the hallmarks of classic dwarven architecture in this fortress’s design, but under the open sky it was vast and beautiful, grand without being pretentious. She felt more comfortable here, in this unfamiliar place, than she had in her life.

And part of that was due to the people there. Ostagar was filled with soldiers, doctors, priests in colorful robes, even mages and templars - and the best part was that not a one glared at her or called her names. Most seemed ambivalent, a welcome change, and the few who did take notice of her seemed impressed that she had arrived as a Grey Warden recruit. She had been so emboldened by this new attitude that she had even dared to be rude to the human king, much to Duncan’s chagrin, although the king himself had seemed unfazed, even amused. If being a Grey Warden meant she could snark at royalty without the risk of injury or death, that was enough reason on its own to join the Wardens.

Not that she would have said that to Duncan.

Having been turned loose for the time being, she wandered around the fortress, watching the people as she kept a lookout for the Warden Duncan had asked her to find - Alistair, his name was. She knew he was somewhere near the mages, but she was loath to give up her newfound freedom, figuring that once she had found Alistair she would be given a new task, so despite her curiosity she kept somewhat away from the mages - mostly nervous- or excited-looking humans wearing flowing robes and carrying staves.

There were a few elves among their number as well, but as far as Cadrin saw, most of the elves at Ostagar seemed to be servants and errand-runners, scurrying back and forth with helmets and swords and pieces of paper to deliver. Remembering her decision to like the elves more, Cadrin tried smiling at a few of them, but most didn’t even notice, so focused were they on their individual tasks. She tried talking to one of them, but she had barely said “Hello” before the elven woman shook her head and said quickly, “Oh please miss, I can’t be distracted right now. If the mistress sees me standing around chatting, I could get the switch!”

That just made Cadrin angry.

As she glared around, halfheartedly wondering which mistress she was going to have to use her new Grey Warden status to intimidate, she heard the shout.

“Knife ear!”

A memory flew back to her. Cadrin had a tiny scar on one ear, from when she was a child in Orzammar. She and Rica had hardly eaten anything more than a handful of rotting mushrooms for a week, and Cadrin had finally grown desperate enough to creep into the market during the night cycle. There were a few people around, but most were at their houses, not on the streets. She’d picked the lock on one of the vendor stalls, and grabbed the first thing she saw - some kind of round, hard fruit, imported from the surface - and was about to bound away in unbridled joy when a hand suddenly yanked her up by the scruff of her filthy shirt.

“Sodding no-good brand!” an angry voice growled behind her, and the point of a knife slid underneath her chin. She froze in terror. “Stealing my wares! I worked hard to get these surface foods, and now some dirty, lazy brat thinks she can steal it!”

“I’m sorry,” Cadrin had gasped, breathless, trying not to cry or move too much. “I just - my sister - we haven’t had anything to eat and - ”

“You think that’s my fucking problem?” The merchant threw her forward roughly onto the cold stone ground, causing the knife to slice open the shell of her ear on the way down. “You’d better get out of here before I call the guards to haul you away! You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood, brand.” With that, the merchant spit on the ground next to her and stomped away, leaving Cadrin to scramble to her feet, one hand cupped over her bleeding ear, and sprint away back to Dust Town amidst the glares and mutterings of onlookers.

She touched the scar now, back in Ostagar, but somehow she didn’t think that’s what the voice meant. “Oi, knife ear!” the voice called again, and she spun to find its source.

One of the soldiers, all armored up and looking a little too self-important for his own good, was gesturing impatiently at a nearby elf. “Elf!” he yelled, and Cadrin tensed up. She knew that tone of voice all too well.

The elf the soldier was yelling at hurried over, ears slanted slightly backward in what looked to Cadrin like nervousness and probably irritation.

“Aren’t you in charge of delivering to the king’s soldiers?” the armored man said imperiously. “Do you see swords in our hands?”

“No, ser,” the elf muttered to the floor.

“How do you expect us to fight darkspawn without swords? You hoarding them? Think you’re gonna fight the ‘spawn yourself?”

His fellows snickered.

“I’ll fetch them, ser.”

The elf walked off quickly, shoulders hunched, and once his back was turned to the soldiers Cadrin could see his expression quickly fall into one of repressed anger and tiredness. She didn’t realize her fist was clenched at her side until the elf had already passed her.

Her suspicions had been correct. Even those of the Servant Caste hadn’t been treated so dismissively, and they certainly weren’t called names; lowest legitimate caste as they were, their position was still considered honorable to a degree, serving their betters. “Knife ear”, to Cadrin, sounded like just another way of saying “brand” - the mark of dishonor was their ears instead of the burn scar on their face.

She couldn’t help glaring at the soldiers until one noticed and said, “What are you staring at, dwarf?” prompting the others to laugh again. It took all of her willpower not to engage. She figured that maybe a new member of such a legendary band of heroes as the Wardens shouldn’t be starting fights with soldiers, tempting as it was.

But she did touch her scar again, and then one of her daggers, making a mental note to take it to the ear of the first human she heard saying “knife ear” once the battle was over.


End file.
